


There Is No Dissuading The Mists

by ryoku



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Allomancy, Feruchemy, Gen, Metal Based Magic System, Mistborn AU, batfamily, canon character death?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14141790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: Bruce had come to understand that raising children, was like relearning all of your flaws you never thought were a problem.aka The self indulged Mistborn AU that no one asked for.





	There Is No Dissuading The Mists

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of this piece over a year ago. It was largely how I contextualized learning general Batman comic canon, and it was fun to play with Mistborn's expansive magic system, and try to make it accessible for people that might not know about it. That being said, I cherry picked what went into this, and I do so without shame. I hope you enjoy it none the less. 
> 
> Mistborn is a set of novels by Brandon Sanderson, and they are marvelous! I'd highly suggest them if you are at all interested in high fantasy!
> 
> Please keep in mind that the magic system used here can seem complex at times. I did my best to depict it accurately (with a few exceptions), and explain it simply, but if it's still confusing, I'm including an index of terms and explanations in the notes at the bottom, including a link for further reading on Allomancy and Feruchemy, should you be so interested.

I

Bruce Wayne doesn't know when he snapped. Surprisingly, it wasn't when his parents died. He remembered that night, watching helplessly as his parents were gunned down. If there was any such power coursing through his veins, he might have done something, could have done something. But he didn't. He just watched and cried as his world bled out onto the alleyway. 

It was some time after that, but he's never been sure when. Much of the time right after his parents death is a blur of emptiness and anger. His thoughts at that time elude him, but he knows instinctively that they were violent. It must have happened sometime in that period, because the first time he could remember burning pewter was in a school yard, as he pounded his fists into three older, larger kids. He wanted to hurt them; for bullying others, for terrorizing people smaller than they were, for harassing the kids that had less money and social status, for blood they'd already spilled, and the blood that he knew they would spill in the future. He knew the teachers wouldn't do it, knew they wouldn't help. So he'd done it himself. 

He looks back on that sometimes with remorse. Those kids didn't know they were facing a pewterarm, and to be fair, neither did Bruce at the time. 

The kids survived, but barely. Bruce was expelled. Alfred and the lawyers worked out a large settlement that would ensure that those children would get the medical attention they needed. Bruce walked into that fight angry, and he walked out new. Still angry, but new. 

Allomancy probably didn't change his life, but it seemed to make his decisions easier, less complicated. Pewter gave him strength, durability, speed, and a strange sort of grace he'd never had before. It was enough. He walked away from that fight with a purpose, a future. He also walked away knowing he needed to learn restraint. 

Even as a normal person, the right amount of force in the wrong place could kill someone. Pewter made that so much easier that it was almost laughable. Those kids had been lucky they hadn't died. He needed direction. 

II

Bruce's parents were vigilant in ways that Bruce didn't understand until after they were gone. Alfred Pennyworth was a good example. 

Before Bruce realized he could burn pewter, he'd never known that Alfred was an allomancer at all. Had never even suspected it. Once he was able to burn metals, he started looking for it in everyone he met. He had theories, about what sort of traits were best associated with one or another, and he studied techniques of all the different mistlings he could find. It wasn't easy to do.

He read book after book, and it was only after a few months that he even thought to consider why those books were in the Wayne library. Books about mistlings and mistborns were popular, but most of those were fictitious. Every young child had dreams of snapping, awakening to that sort of power. They were a constant source of wonder to the populace, but actual non-fiction books on the subject were not as common. 

With general knowledge of allomancy and feruchemy, also came hemalurgy, and that scared people. For all the gifts allomancy gave, all that could be enhanced by feruchemy, it was hemalurgy, the dark art, that threatened to take it all away. It was horrifying that anyone could run a steak through your heart, and steal your powers. It was the horror of every novel about them. 

The reality was just as dark as the stories. There were reports everyday of mistlings disappearing, or suspected mistlings. The more Bruce dug, the more perverse the study became. There were even a few books in the library on hemalurgy, the descriptions so abrupt and clinical, that they would haunt him even in adulthood. People kept their gifts hidden, didn't write about it, other than as pithy adventure fiction for the mass consumption of the masses. The wondrous powers were a double edged sword. If you had them, and dared to use them, there would always be someone watching, waiting to steal it from you.

The Wayne library had an extensive collection of books on the subject. To be fair, most of them were old, and Bruce often wondered if they were outdated, but he supposed that the basics didn't change all that much. 

This was one way that his parents had prepared. There had to have been other mistlings somewhere in the Wayne line if Bruce had it, but who was hard to say. Some of the books were old enough to have been from several generations back. The other, was Alfred Pennyworth, who as Bruce discovered, was a coppercloud. By burning copper, he could hide the use of allomantic metals from those that could sense allomantic burning. Seekers were the bane of any allomancer, a good one could detect a mistling the moment he started burning, simply by virtue of existing in the manor, Alfred gave him a safe haven. It didn't guarantee his safety, but it likely helped more than Bruce would ever truly know. 

Before snapping, Bruce hadn't even known it was one of the many things Alfred simply did around the house, like doing the dishes or dusting the mantle. It was part of the job. 

Some days, he wondered if either of his parents had been allomancers. It was possible, considering all the evidence. He thought of how his mother could soothe him with a word, or how quickly his father could come up with solutions to any situation, and he wondered. Bruce never asked. 

As the years without them passed, Bruce found he asked less and less questions about them. 

III

Anyone who knew anything about the circus industry, knew that the most accomplished acrobats were coinshots. It was simply a known thing in the business. As with any specific occupation where an allomancer would be preferred, there were many in the business who weren't, but it was all kept a secret. Acrobats didn't want people knowing if they were coinshots. 

Hemalurgy was a thing to worry about, and encouraged secrecy, but it was more than that. Allomancy took away from the show, demystified the art and wonder of the show. Most were under strict no burning policies during performances, so even if they were coinshots, it wouldn't matter. The danger was still the same, the consequences just as dire if they failed. 

Despite that, people who knew a lot about acrobats, claimed they could tell the difference between a true coinshot, and a regular acrobat. There was something about how gracefully they flew through the air, how second nature it was. Or so they said. 

Bruce didn't know much about the industry. After the fall, he'd never asked Dick which of his parents had been a coinshot. It hardly seemed appropriate. 

(He learned, later, that neither of them were. They were delighted when Dick was. His mother used to say it made her sleep better at night knowing that her little Robin would really fly.)

IV

Gotham was a coinshot's paradise, with high rises as far as the eye could see. If Dick ever came out as a mistling, he'd never need a car. He could simply dive out any window, burn steel, push himself into the air from any of the metal building, and get where he wanted to go in a matter of minutes. The landing was a trickier business, but Dick was well up to the task. Thankfully Dick would never publically be known as a coinshot. 

A single mistling, regardless of their ability, could sell for millions on the black market. A coinshot of Dick's natural talent could go for ten times that. There was just far to much risk involved. Officially, very few mistlings were born anymore, and there was probably truth to it. Many simply disappeared. 

Dick was an acrobat at heart, and though reveling in his abilities as Robin was cathartic, he never gave any indication that Dick Grayson could burn steel. It was too ingrained, too much a part of the circus, of the performance, to be genuine. Even still, Bruce knew there would always be a stigma, that Dick would be under suspicion for the rest of his life because of how public they'd been about the adoption, and where Dick had come from. People wouldn't just look at him and think 'billionaire's ward' they would also think 'mistling with a billion dollar price tag'.

Bruce had not considered these things seriously when he brought Dick home for the first time. It was only as time wore between them, as he got to learn who his young ward was, that these concerns started to bubble inside of him.

Dick hadn't admitted to being able to burn steel at first. In fact, he'd flat out denied it at the onset. Then of course Batman caught him sneaking out, diving from rooftop to rooftop, hoping from skyscrapers like he was made for nothing else. Bruce had had no choice then, but to call Dick on his deception. After learning about Bruce's nightly escapades, Dick's tune had changed quickly. He was more than happy to use his abilities to assist Batman. Bruce was not above admitting that Dick Grayson being a coinshot was a determining factor in his eventual role as Robin. At the time, it had seemed almost ideal. 

The fact was that as a mistling, there wasn't any way for Dick to really escape the target on his back. Bruce had been relieved when Dick had said he wasn't a coinshot, but when the truth came out, it brought with it a whole host of new problems. Dick was never going to be completely safe, no matter what Bruce did, so it made sense for him to deal with Dick's abilities, to make sure he was trained, and knew what he was doing. Being a coinshot meant that some of those concerns were lessened, but they didn't go away. Besides, Dick didn't need him to take revenge if he wanted to, not really. Especially against Tony Zucco, who by all accounts wasn't metal born. 

But Dick was 9, and the world was an unforgiving place. Him being a coinshot, and a damn good one from what Bruce could see, was a factor in him becoming Robin. It probably shouldn't have been, but it was, and there really wasn't any way of disputing it. 

There were moments though, flaring pewter and running as fast as he could to even attempt to keep up, that Bruce regretted not considering the ramifications more thoroughly. 

Dick got to every fight first, and he almost always refused to just wait for Batman to show up before engaging hostiles. Bruce hated burning pewter for something as silly as running when he might need it to for more important things, like surviving a gunshot wound, but there was simply nothing for it. No matter how many times he told Robin to wait for him, not to go leaping away into the metal jungle of Gotham's high-rises on his own, it didn't matter. There were a few crowning achievements, where Dick actually waited for him, but they were not the norm, and no matter how Bruce reprimanded him, that ratio didn't change. 

Bruce's opinions on the matter were conflicted. If Robin got into trouble before he got there (which happened a lot) there was a serious possibility of danger. He had nightmares of someone taking Dick before he could get there, a hemalurgic spike gleaming in the moonlight as it was thrust into his chest. Of course it wouldn't happen that fast, hemalurgy was an old art, and needed to be properly prepared for, but that did not ease Bruce's mind. It was possible that with his speed, Robin should be able to get away, but there were always going to be circumstances that would make for the exception. 

V

Bruce ended up having to actually sit Dick down, and talk about feelings. It wasn't nearly as hard as he'd thought it would be. For the longest time, he'd been telling Dick not to leap off without him, and not telling him why. Predictably, Dick hadn't understood his concerns, not really. He was 9, and still dealing with the fact that he was the youngest vigilante to the business. He felt invincible, and probably really in control of his life for the first time, but he also yearned to be useful. He didn't need or want the kid gloves, and he'd take Bruce's concern as affront to his abilities. Once Bruce had corrected this line of thinking as much as he could, Dick seemed to understand.

It was a turning point in their partnership. 

Before, they'd been two hot heads going after similar targets, occasionally quibbling at one another. With a little bit more insight into what Bruce was thinking, Dick was suddenly able to fill in blanks without Bruce having to say anything at all. Their partnership flourished. Dick still went off on his own sometimes, but usually gave warning before doing so. Bruce could either let him, or instruct him to stop, and miraculously, Dick listen. Dick became better at taking orders, at not questioning them, and simply doing what Bruce wanted, often without Bruce actually having to say anything. It didn't always happen seamlessly, but it was much better than he had been expecting.

Maybe he would forget at some point how important that conversation had been, where he'd actually sat down, and explained to Dick why they needed to stick together. Or maybe, after that, Dick got too good at reading him, at intuitively understanding. For better or worse, they didn't have many more conversations like it. 

VI

Within a week of working with Barbara Gordon, Bruce finally understood just how annoying speed bubbles were. Mostly, he was just happy that so few criminals burned bendalloy, because he'd be in a world of hurt if they did. 

The first time Barbara used one while Batman was around, she and a thug simply disappeared. It was fifteen seconds of 'what the hell just happened' and in their line of work, 15 seconds could be the difference between life or death. It had been unpleasant, to say the least, as Robin kept calling for Batgirl, also not sure what had happened. She'd showed up again after said 15 seconds, in a slightly different place, but not hurt in any way. The thug had not been so lucky. 

They were still in the middle of a fight, Robin raining down batarangs and he had still been in the thick of hand to hand combat, so he couldn't exactly do anything at that exact moment, but he filed the information away.

VII

As it turned out, he didn't need to reprimand Barbara that first time. The minute the fight was over, Robin bounded down at her, pouting and irritable, and undeniably concerned. 

It seemed good at the time. Dick had obviously made a friend, and Barbara was more responsive to being lightly chastised by him than by Bruce. Batgirl had started vigilante work on her own, and where as she had agreed to be part of the team at times, he still wasn't completely sure if that meant she would listen to him. She was still something of an enigma on the crime fighting stage, so Bruce was more than willing to let Dick do most of the outward fretting. 

Dick and Barbara got closer, and it was a mixed blessing. What ended up happening, was that now he had two children disappearing into speed bubbles instead of just one, and he couldn't reach them no matter what he did. He could hear them though, and while they chattered away in their speed bubble, all two minutes of extra time condensed into 15 seconds of horrible screeching chatter in his comm. At the very least, it was good, because he could hear them, and if he could hear them, they were okay. But mostly, it was annoying, and induced a great many headaches. There were some nights when they did it 5 or 6 times. Bruce felt like he'd never had more headaches in his life. 

Perhaps his least favorite uses of speed bubbles, was when someone was injured. Barbara had a habit, of sprinting over to either him or Robin, and patching up a wound if it was particularly worrying, before dropping the speed bubble. In theory, it wasn't a bad practice, but it made Bruce nervous. If she was with Dick, that was two extra minutes that he might be bleeding to death. If she was with him, Dick was on his own for 15 seconds, and Bruce knew how important 15 seconds could be in a fight. 

In the end, there wasn't a whole lot he could do. The speed bubbles were useful, there was no denying it, but a part of him wished that they simply didn't cause so many headaches, literal or otherwise. 

VIII

At some point, he wasn't even exactly sure when, things started to get easier. He and Dick were getting along, tempers flared from time to time (and when they did, look out) but Dick always came back after cooling down and they figured things out. 

Dick was disgustingly competent, he seemed to understand Bruce's moods, and was good at keeping him in check, and he was much better in a fight than Bruce had ever really expected him to be. Dick had a natural athleticism, that made everything seem rather effortless to him, and it helped to put him at ease. He was everything Bruce could have wanted in a successor. 

Then of course Barbara slotted herself into their lives, and while that did bring some problems, it solved more than he thought it would. She was good for both of them; Dick had a friend around his age, and Bruce knew that Barbara was the more responsible of the two. 

He had expected some bumps when Dick became a teenager, but he wasn't that worried. Dick seemed to know him so well, and to be fair, they looked after each other. Change was always a bit of an upheaval, but Bruce was confident that it, they, would be fine.

In fact, Dick's thirteenth birthday came and went, and there were no obvious changes. Of course, Bruce hadn't actually expected it to be like flipping a switch, but he was, nonetheless, relieved. 

It was not meant to last. 

IX

Jason was blessed and cursed, to be normal. 

Upon taking in Jason, Bruce had every intention of not repeating his mistakes. Part of the tension with Dick had been that they'd been partners. Of course there were other things involved, but Bruce felt, in large part, that it was because he was more of a partner, and less of a father. He was determined not to make the same mistake. He was sure Jason needed stability, not the knock out drag down sort of things he'd been growing up with all his life. 

But really, there was probably very little he could have done. Jason knew he was Batman from the start, and once he got it in his head to be Robin, there was no stopping him. 

In his attempt to rationalize the decision, Bruce thought at the onset, that Jason having no allomancy would make him less aggressive, and less likely to just go off on his own. After his constant fights with Dick, unable to keep him in one place for long, Jason seemed like he would be a breath of fresh air. 

Jason couldn't get to fights faster than Bruce could. Jason couldn't use speed bubbles like Barbara to fight enemies alone. Jason had none of these gifts, so Bruce was sure that he could look after him without the interference that allomancy provided. He thought it would be simpler. He wasn't exactly ready for a change, because things had gone so bad with Dick so fast, but he was willing to try again. Jason would need him, and Bruce thought that maybe he needed Jason too. He'd gotten used to working with another person, and he couldn't deny the fact that he wanted someone at his side again. It was supposed to be easier. 

It wasn't. 

He should have seen it coming a mile away, and in hindsight, Bruce was devastated that he hadn't. Jason's upbringing made him feel inferior, something that was only compounded by his lack of allomancy. Jason attempted to make up that difference with aggression, recklessness, and rage. He did it so well that it was scary. 

There were so many talks about excessive force, so many comments about how Jason wasn't going to let him down. Jason, more than any child Bruce had ever met, needed approval in every way. He slaved to get it, but never once asked for it. Under all the gruff exterior, the smoking and the cussing and the anger, and more injuries than Dick ever got, Bruce knew there was a kid that loved ice cream, rainy nights in front of the fire place with a book, and curling up on the couch with a blanket, a movie, and a bowl of popcorn. A kid that needed a solid family that didn't come with all the baggage that the Wayne name brought. Bruce had never really stopped wishing that he'd been able to provide that.

Jason had a heart of gold, and moral beliefs that were just as strong as Bruce's, even though they didn't always agree. The saddest part, was that it was easy to see that for anyone that was looking. No one else had ever given Jason the chance.

Once he'd talked with Dick, those first years had been the easiest. The first years with Jason seemed the hardest. 

He was wrong about that too. 

X

Bruce was not above admitting that he set up tests for people. Pass or fail sort of things, that would gauge how he should handle a situation in the future. It had been one of those things that always pissed off Dick. He didn't always call Bruce on it, but Bruce rationalized that it was for his own good, that he had good reasons for why he set up such tests. 

He didn't realize how annoying it was until he adopted Jason. 

Jason had spent most of his life testing boundaries, what he could get away with, what he couldn't, and anyone that had a conversation with him could tell that in a heartbeat. Instinctively, the kid went for the jugular in every verbal match. Where as Dick would explode with anger, and mean almost every word of it, because he was honest at the very least, Jason said the worst thing that would come to his mind, just to see how angry you would get, just how far he could push you. He wanted to know what you could do, he always had to prepare for the worst, so he had to know what that worst was going to be.

This was an annoying trait, to be sure, but Bruce could handle it. It was a defense mechanism, and that understanding helped chill his temper. It was the other tests that tried his patience. 

He woke up one morning, and found that the batmobile's tires actually had been stolen, in the cave no less. Upon watching the security footage, they were simply there one second, and gone the next. Of course there was no question who'd taken them, but Jason was obviously testing the water, seeing how far he could push, and how angry Bruce would get. 

It would not be the first test. The last one, when it came, Bruce would fail.

XI

Bruce had attempted, in his dealing with both Dick and Barbara, to have them never burn metals outside of costume. 

It was a precaution in general, and a good rule to have as far as he was concerned, even if it wasn't one that he followed himself. Dick probably would have fought him more about it, if it hadn't been ingrained in him from his circus days, but Babs was a different story. 

He didn't really expect her to just give up her speed bubbles because he told her to, but at the same time, she was smart enough to know better. He was never sure if she followed that order or not. 

Bruce found out that, actually, she did. When the Joker showed up at her doorstep, she hadn't had any bandalloy in her system to burn.

XII

Jason had an anklet. It was a small thing, and probably had been intended as a necklace at some point, but Jason kept it snugly wrapped around his ankle, looping around three times. It was something he hid instinctively, probably because it was the only thing of worth he had owned before Bruce adopted him. It went into the shower with him, it fit snugly under socks both during the day and at night, and even as Robin, Jason hid it under the pixie boots. 

It always touched skin.

Looking back on it years and years later, Bruce would regret taking it off Jason's lifeless body, even for the few days Jason spent in the morgue. 

It would have been horrifying for Jason to wake up there, smelling of formaldehyde, but it would have been better than what actually happened. 

XIII

Bruce thought he'd been prepared for just about anything. It was possible that over burning made him paranoid about being found out, so Bruce took all of the necessary precautions to keep their identities, and their allomantic skills out of the public eye. 

Or, at least, he had. After Jason, he'd just stopped. He imagined Alfred kept things in order still, as he always had, but it didn't matter to him anymore. 

Batman patrolled, kept the city safe, but Bruce was finding it harder to get up in the mornings, or even in the afternoons. He used pewter more, because he needed it. For some reason, he was taking more damage, and they were harder to heal. He fought through them. Sometimes, he'd take a hit, and after the fight was over, when he was back in the manor, Bruce would force the pewter off, and think about beatings and burns as the pain hissed at him. 

Then of course Dick showed up on his doorstep, with a young Timothy Drake in tow. Things went downhill from there. 

XIV

Tinny Tim, as Dick joked (a nickname that thankfully would not last), was indeed one of the best tineyes Bruce had ever encountered. Not that he'd spent a lot of time analyzing tineyes, they tended not to get into fights much. Bruce figured that was because they could see, smell and hear trouble coming from a mile away, quite literally. They tended to be hard to find.

Tim was no different. When burning tin, all of his senses were well above the human average. No one snuck up on Tim, and very little ever surprised him. It probably was no surprise that small dismissive Tim Drake, had been able to catch such vibrant photos of Batman and Robin, when others had failed. 

Not only that, he was highly competent. Tim could solve a problem just as fast as Bruce could, and with time, Bruce expected that Tim would be better at it. He also had the characteristic grace of anyone who had trained under a Grayson. 

Knowing all of these things, despite all of these things, Bruce said no. 

Dick was angry at him, but that was fine. Dick had been angry when he made Jason Robin, he could be angry again now, when Bruce refused. 

XV

The only flaw in his plan, was that Tim didn't take no for an answer. Even after being turned down, he followed Bruce on his own, and there wasn't much chance of really avoiding a tineye that was after you. 

He showed up time after time at fights that he shouldn't have, put himself in obvious danger, and refused to back off, and damn Dick, but Tim was well trained, and well stocked with all the tools a budding Robin would need.

Bruce himself had been called relentless many times in his life, but it was strange to have someone else turning that on him. Other than telling Tim to go home, there wasn't much he could actually do. 

He held out for a while, but in time, after plenty of angry arguments with Dick, Bruce relented. Tim became the 3rd Robin. 

XVI

Tim was not like his other Robins, not by a long shot. He was good in a fight, like the other two had been, but he also had a strictly analytical side to him that was all his own. He wasn't as fiercely emotional, and his objectivity was often an asset, but that meant he also tended to hide things, releasing information as it became relevant, something Bruce himself was known for. Bruce hadn't realized how annoying it was, but he'd come to understand that raising children, was like relearning all of your flaws you never thought were a problem.

Dick had never hid much, and Jason had only squirreled away secrets out of some sort of emergency back up plan, just in case everything went to shit. Tim used information like the weapon it was, and he did it almost as well as Barbara. 

He also took significantly less hits than either Dick or Jason had. Tim was better at staying out of trouble, or at least taking less damage, which in and of itself was a relief. It made sense, he could sense a threat from father away, and he was hard to sneak up on. With that sort of advantage, he got out of most situations with ease, and it helped that he didn't seem nearly as reckless as either Dick or Jason. 

In these ways, fitting into vigilante work with Tim was probably easier than any of his other Robins, but these were not the only factors to consider. 

First of all, Tim was not his child. Like Barbara, there was no way for Bruce to rationally act like his father, and that bugged him. He'd failed at being a good father to the two other boys, and somehow, he found himself wanting to fall into the role again, but Tim didn't need that. He had a father, that he loved. He didn't sleep in the same house Bruce did most of the time, and Bruce had very little control over his future. 

Tim also burned his metal far more than any of the other children Bruce had interacted with, way more than he should. It made him twitchy sometimes, sensitive to light, and highly addicted to stimulants – he burned through caffeine like bitter middle aged office employee. Over burning didn't usually get in the way of his work, but Bruce instinctively wanted to order him to stop burning tin so much, to stop drinking so much coffee, to stop eating junk, and to go to bed. Not being Tim's father made all of these things rather difficult. It didn't stop him from trying, and Tim was generally compliant when push came to shove, but getting him to follow through wasn't easy. 

Bruce did try, it just didn't always work. 

That was where Dick came in. Bruce had always known Dick would be a good older brother, but it had never happened with Jason. Bruce had gotten too much in the way, spoiled any chance his children had of being closer. He knew it was his own fault, but Dick was resolved not to make the same mistake twice. 

Even though Tim was not his brother, Dick adopted him as if he was. When Tim needed help, Dick came. When Tim needed rest, or to be reminded that he was still a teenager, Dick was the one to call. And call they did, back and forth. Tim talked to Dick more than Bruce did. 

It was a relief, to see Dick around more, to have him being such an active partner for Tim, but it was also just good to see him. 

Bruce's heart ached for Jason. It was impossible to let go.

XVII

Tim brought Stephanie into their lives, and it was trouble from the very beginning. Stephanie was a loose canon, was the daughter of a criminal, had one of the brightest smiles on the planet, and didn't take orders well. She listened to Tim, but that was sort of it. Bruce really had no idea what to do with her. 

That being said, Steph and Tim were amazing together, and despite his misgivings, he was reminded of how important Barbara was in Dick's life. He didn't stop it. Everything in his gut told him that he should send her home, make sure that she she never donned a cape again, but in the end, he didn't. 

It was sort of a relief that she didn't have allomancy. Until of course, she did. 

As with most allomancers, she'd hidden it her whole life, even from her parents, so it wasn't surprising that when he asked her, she denied it. Without money, there hadn't been a lot she could do to get a hold of metals to burn. She had built up metal stores over time, so she did know she could burn, she just always assumed that she wasn't very good at it, and didn't have a lot of practice. 

Most of his allomantic children, had come to him with prior knowledge of how to use their gifts, something that he expanded upon. Steph didn't really know how. She'd been using it a little bit here and there her whole life, without really understanding it, but she didn't know how she did it. So Bruce had to teach her how to burn zinc, which turned out to be rather difficult. 

Bruce had only dealt with zinc defensively. Rioters made emotions stronger, more overwhelming. For the most part, he knew how it worked, and in the field, he understood when it was being used against him. All text book stuff. Teaching Steph how to do it was hard, but he shouldn't have worried. Once she had actual stores of zinc to work with, she learned quick on her own. Not amazing, but still good. 

Often, by the time he realized she was using it on him, she'd already dashed off to do whatever she wanted, and he had to chase her down. The subtlety of it all was rather lost on her, but of course, she worked with Tim, so even on it's own, things worked out. Still, Bruce worried. Stephanie was a loose canon, similar to Jason in so many ways that it concerned him. But Stephanie had something Jason never had, she had Tim, a friend she could rely on.

With Tim able to help her channel her abilities, they were a force to be reckoned with. That never stopped him from worrying. In fact, he worried more. He did his best to instill in Stephanie just how dangerous using allomancy outside of the costume was. Bruce could never be sure he'd convinced her of anything. He worried. 

XVII

Cassandra showed up on Bruce's doorstep, figuratively speaking, and Bruce realized within a few moments, that he never wanted her to leave. 

Then of course that is exactly what she did, and what he made her do, and it was all very conflicting, but it was efficient, and as always, that won out in the end. 

Cass was a talent unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was like young prodigious children just showed up in front of him on their own. Fate had an ironic way of landing overly competent children at his feet, and if anyone was that, it was Cass. 

Cass was twinborn (Bruce would wonder, at some point, if assassins went out of their way to breed not only feruchemists, but twinborns as well.) and she was the first one that he'd ever worked with. 

Chromium was a metal Bruce had never thought would be in his arsenal, simply because he'd been fighting it for years on the streets. A good lurcher was ten times more dangerous than almost any other mistling. There was nothing like a lurcher wiping out all of his metal stores to make him realize just how addicted to pewter he was. Bruce always kept extra vials, everyone who worked with him kept them, and he kept various ones for the other members of his team, because running into a lurcher he wasn't expecting was always a bad day, and there had been too many close calls to remain unprepared.

It was strange to suddenly have one on his side, and Cass was not only a competent one, she was damn near brilliant with it. She could neutralize an enemy in hardly any time at all, and it was such a strange thing to watch nimble, agile, petite Cass, simply touch any hulking allomancer, and send them packing in fear. Cass changed the game of any fight she was in, and everyone knew it.

As if that wasn't enough, the feruchemy sealed any deal. 

Bruce had a good understanding of feruchemy, and how to deal with it, even if it was a pain. Assassins loved the skill, and went out of their way to specially breed for it, or to steal children with the potential. (In truth, he'd been surprised when Ra's al Ghul had consented to a relationship between Bruce and Talia. He certainly had no history of feruchemy to speak of. Bruce would realize, later, that it wasn't what Ra's had been looking for at all.) 

Unlike allomancy, which could be used at anytime, metals permitting, feruchemy was an art that required a lot of prep, for very high short term gains. It was perfect for the kind of long stretches of inactivity, and sudden bursts of power that assassins needed. Thus, Bruce had been fighting it and learning it's weaknesses for years. 

Cass had a pair of small zinc stubs in her ears, small little things, that sparkled when she walked. At first glance, they were the only obvious metalminds on her, but as with everything about Cass, they were a distraction. They did store a bit, but they were too small to hold the sheer amount she stored. They were hardly her main sources. 

Surgically inserted under skin, and were dozens of small zinc plates, puzzled across her back like some abstract art project. It was a technique Bruce had seen used by assassins. A metal inserted that way, couldn't be removed or manipulated by allomancy, and a feruchemy was only useful as long as they had metalminds to tap. He remembered the first time they'd ever taken an x-ray of her, and he'd seen the patchwork of shards, like shrapnel that would never be extracted.

It was painful to think that anyone had done this to a child, that Cass would have those for the rest of her life. He didn't have to like it, but Cass' metal minds had their uses, and even when asked, she would not consent to having them removed. 

The metalminds under her flesh were a part of Cass, a part that Bruce would never really understand, because while the person shaped how allomancy was used, feruchemy dictated what a person would be like. Allomancy could be turned off, put away, and ignored if need be, it did not need to change a person, and it was a danger to use in public. Feruchemy was a lifestyle, a legacy of stockpiling resources until they were needed. 

Zinc gave Cass mental sharpness, it gave her the ability to come up with 20 contingency plans in as many seconds, but for those 20 seconds to work, she had to give up 10 minutes of sharpness. Cass had to spend most of her time blinking owlishly at things, her head in a proverbial haze. 

Of all the children that had come in and out of his life, Cass was one of the fastest, the most capable, but she was also the one that would follow a butterfly in a park, who they caught staring at a glass of water for half an hour, dipping her finger in and out, as if she was some sort of human metronome. 

Bruce had always been on the business end of feruchemy, the one dealing with it's output, not it's input. Cass, in her own way, provided unique challenges that Bruce hadn't had to face before. Like her being gone for a week, when he hadn't really assigned anything to her. She'd simply wandered off, and hadn't come back. He had every understanding that Cass could, and would, take care of herself. She always had, and she probably always would, but that didn't mean the tracking device wasn't entirely necessary. 

In fact, several tracking devices were necessary. Cass went through them as if they were proverbial candy, losing them here or there.

In some ways, Bruce had her to thank for how refined they ended up being, how accurate, and how well they stuck to a target. Cause Cass could unintentionally lose a tracking device in her sleep, and it was a constant battle to keep track of where she'd wandered off to. 

XVIII

It came to pass, that by the time Cass walked into their lives, the Wayne household was a bustling center. Tim and Stephanie were constants, and Barbara had cemented herself as Oracle. Between those three, and himself, there didn't seem to be much cause for concern. 

Of course he worried (Jason's ghost still plagued him, was still the torment of every fear toxin haze he went through), but the kids, as it were, took care of their own. Bruce wasn't exactly proud that he had a gaggle of child soldiers at his beck and call, but they were strong, relied on, and looked out for one another. 

He trusted Tim to see trouble coming, Cass to deal with it when it came, Stephanie to keep the other two from over extending themselves, and for Barbara get them out of anything they couldn't handle, even if it meant calling him in. 

For a long time, Bruce worked most of his cases alone. He would not profess to love it, but it was effective. He could delegate tasks, and trust them to look out for one another if he wasn't there. 

It felt like being a father again, watching his kids grow and rely on each other. It wasn't easy, and he was always ready to swoop in should he be needed. Most of the time, he wasn't. The kids were competent, he'd done something right.

XIX

Death had always skirted around Bruce's life. To most of it, there was no sense, no justice, but to some, there was order. A malignant, vile order that Bruce sought to curb every night he went out on Gotham's streets. Bruce did not deal well with it, never had. He would not be Batman if he knew how to, and if he'd never become Batman, Jason might still be alive. 

Dick had also known loss, but he had grown from it, blossomed into something vibrant and admirable. He took away something bright from the death of his parents. It was something Bruce could point to. Dick had managed what Bruce could not, and it was a thing of beauty, to be admired in every way. 

Jason had known nothing but loss. His father, mother, security, health, happiness; they were all scarce and fleeting in his life. Bruce had tried to change that. He had failed, in what might have been one of his most painful losses. 

Tim was unique. Unlike every child Bruce had (and in his own head, they were all his), he came with light and wonder in his eyes. He knew the risks in only hypothetical speculation, contingencies after contingencies. If Bruce had been firmer, had not allowed himself to be swayed by Dick, or Tim himself, perhaps he could have prevented the tragedies that befell Tim's life. But Batman worked in realities, there was no time for what ifs. 

When Jack Drake passed, it was a matter of practicality that he properly adopt Tim. Bruce Wayne had not publicly had a child since Jason, and that was a heavy weight to bare. 

Tim was strong, resourceful. He could live alone, provide for himself if need be, but Bruce didn't want him to. He wanted to chastise him for pushing too far, eating too little, drinking too much coffee, and for damn sure he wanted to tell him to stop burning tin, to rest. 

In the end, tragically, Bruce probably only added to Tim's burden, as he had always done. Tim was competent, selfless, hard working and observant, and he took care of Bruce more than the opposite could be said. Being Tim Drake-Wayne did not alleviate anything, it only seemed to add more weight to Tim's work load. 

As always, the crusade came first. When Gotham screamed and wailed, Batman answered her call. Bruce would only notice the fault lines in hindsight.

XX

When Jason was back in his life, angry and resentful and wanting to burn Gotham's criminals alive, Bruce remembered the gold bracelet. Before, he'd known only the output of feruchemy. He'd known how it worked, how depositing and withdrawing attributes manifested, but before Cass he had never lived with it. 

Or at least, that was what he had believed. 

Throughout Jason's time in the manor, he had been ill a great many times. Bruce distinctly remembered that at the time, Leslie had been one of his most commonly contacted numbers. He and Alfred had attributed most of it to lack of nutrition and a poor immune system. They'd worked hard to counteract it, but even years into Jason's stay at the manor, it hadn't changed. He picked up every seasonal illness that went around, and Alfred was more aggressive that he wash his hands several times a day, and eat healthy food. Bruce even told him to limit physical touch if necessary, which hadn't been a stretch for Jason.

For all of his odd frailties, Jason's drive, dedication and aggression had always made up for it. Jason was a hard worker, and nothing stopped him from his goals. 

When Bruce looked upon Jason again, alive, strong, healthy, and so filled with rage and hurt, he was oddly reminded, that even years after Jason had died, he and Alfred had still found caches of food, clothing and supplies around the manor's grounds. 

Jason had always prepared for the worst. Jason who always held his cards closest to his chest, because trust was never easy. The connection was so clear in Bruce's mind, that it felt like his heart had been stabbed.

Gold would have let Jason store his health away, would have let him plan for the absolute worst case scenario. It made sense that once he was safe in the manor, he invested more, caught cold after cold to store away health for when he would really need it. He'd been safe, and in no real danger. Jason had always known he'd need it. 

Bruce had buried his son alive.

Jason had every right to want him dead. It broke Bruce's heart that he didn't. 

XXI

Bruce wasn't afraid of Damian, he was afraid for Damian. Talia had given birth to a Twinborn who was compounding pewter before he was 10 years old. He probably hadn't spent a day of his life after snapping without burning pewter, and as a compounder, there really wasn't anything Bruce could do to stop it, short of taking away Damian's metal minds. Even that was almost impossible. 

Talia had already infused them into him. With his shirt off, Bruce could see little bumps all over him, at least 30 metal minds, in places that wouldn't interfere with the growth of his muscle masses over time, under the skin so that a Lurcher couldn't steal them. Damian said she'd started when he was 6. 

All he could do was tell Damian not to burn his metals, but even when he tried not to, it was instinctive. Pewter was like that, it was one of the few metals that worked unconsciously, got into the fabric of who you are, and stayed. That fact had saved Bruce numerous times, but it ensured that Damian would never truly be away from it. 

Suddenly, all of Dick's angry warnings that Bruce would become addicted to pewter were real and terrifying, and his fears of hemalurgic spikes went up astronomically. He'd thought it had been bad when he adopted Dick, again when Tim came into their lives, and then with Stephanie, who had not gained subtlety over her powers. Damian was worse. Damian would never be away from it entirely, and he went into something of a withdrawal when he tried not to burn, which just prompted his body to burn more pewter to compensate. Damian could control the amount, but it was a constant, something he couldn't completely stop. His body was constantly burning pewter, even when he slept. 

He was volatile, mean, and explosive in his anger. Worse, Bruce couldn't tell if it was the over use of pewter, or just his personality. 

There were times when Damian walked away from injuries that would kill anyone else, and didn't even let Bruce treat them, because they didn't hurt. He took horrible damage, and kept going, simply walked it off, like someone might do with a mild headache. He was impervious to pain, and Bruce had real concerns that he would simply bleed to death one day without even realizing it.

What it all meant, was that Damian, was almost unstoppable, if he lived long enough for it to matter. No matter where he went, a seeker would be able to find him, which was so worrying that Bruce's paranoia made him want to lock Damian away in the mansion, safe under Alfred's coppercloud, and never let him leave. Dick wisely talked him out of that, but the thought never really left Bruce as a possibility. 

Bruce retreated to the mindset he'd had with Jason, and that was to keep Damian as far away from Gotham crime fighting as he could. Tim was an excellent Robin, there was no need to have that change. Damian had been abused by his mother for his whole life, and Bruce wanted to give him stability, he didn't want to feed that monster of hate and blood that Talia had tried to cultivate in Damian. Jason had needed that normality, but Bruce had caved to Jason's persistence and tenacity. He was resolved not to make the same mistake twice. 

He cursed Talia so many times in that first month after leaving Damian with him. In a way, she was ensuring that Damian would be back to her in time. If he left Bruce, he would always need protecting of some sort, he wasn't even safe sleeping on his own. Round the clock protection was something the League of Assassins could easily provide. 

Bruce had a completely rational fear that without the Lazarus Pit, Damian wouldn't reach 25. 

Then Batman was called to help in the fight against Darkseid. His concerns were a little bit simpler after that.

XXII

It didn't feel like he was gone for a year. It felt like he was gone for ten. At the beginning, it felt like more. At the end, less. Bruce went without pewter for all of it. He'd taken the concerns of his children seriously before, when they'd warned him against addiction. It was ironic that getting lost in the fabric of worlds was what actually convinced him of the weight their concerns held. 

It had not been easy. For years, he'd relied on pewter to make him stronger, faster, and more durable. Without it, he felt fragile, breakable. Like an old man who had squandered the gifts of his youth, and was now paying the price for it. 

Pewter had not made him Batman, but relearning how to do without it was a trial. At the end, he gained a perspective that challenged what he had known. He would not be Batman forever, that did not come as a surprise, but living without pewter, as he was scattered to the far reaches of the multiverse, forced him to relearn the basics. 

It made him polished, better. It sucked. 

XXIII

“I could hear you. I knew you were alive.” It was the first thing Tim said, barely a whisper against Bruce's heart beat, as Bruce held Tim in his arms. Dread ran through his limbs, clawed at his eyes, but he was too relieved to see his son. He had been gone for too long.

Tim had grown taller, but he was leaner, like the weight had been peeled off of him. It looked like he was held together by only muscle and sheer force of will. He refused to remove the cowl. 

He was not Robin, but neither had he moved on from the title. His grace and skill had grown in the time that Bruce was gone, but the regard for his own self worth had been damaged in ways that Bruce was painfully familiar with. 

Bruce feared it was all irreparable. 

XXIV

Batman should have died with him, or never existed in the first place. 

It was the only sense Bruce could make out of coming home, and having to immediately send Dick into brain surgery to save his life. Bruce could not wrap his head around how someone had shot Dick in the head. When he'd been 16, Dick had developed a technique allowing him to change the trajectory of bullets with a delicate steel push. He hadn't had a gunshot injury in years. But he'd been Batman. Batman could take a bullet or three, and keep going. Batman wasn't a coinshot.

Even in recovery, Tim didn't go to see him. 

Tim was a savant now in truth. Whatever precautions or prodding the rest of the family had made in an attempt to stave off the addition, had failed. He never went anywhere without either the cowl, or sunglasses, and rarely ever during the day. His eyes were too sensitive, a flare could put him out of commission for hours, and he was never without tin. 

Bruce knew he couldn't order Tim to always have support in the field, he was too old to take those sorts of orders anymore, but Bruce prayed that being with a team would help curb the side effects. It eased some of Bruce's worries that Tim so heavily relied on his team of teenage heroes. Tim even had a shapeshifter on his team acting as Tim Drake-Wayne in public, with an earpiece so that he could give instructions. 

Stephanie and Tim no longer worked together. Bruce knew they still admired each other, but there was something broken there Bruce couldn't understand. 

A rift had formed and grown between Tim, and almost all of his support. It had likely led to his dependency on tin. If Tim had never been Robin, could this have been prevented? Would all of his children have been happier if he had not existed? He didn't know. Damian, at the very least, would have suffered for it. 

Cassandra was gone. He hoped she'd come back on her own, but Bruce was at least safe in knowing she could take care of herself. He worried nonetheless. He missed her terribly.

XXV

For all the bad, there was also good. 

Dick had worked wonders on Damian. He was calmer, worked well with others, and had learned moderation in his burning. Dick had invested time and care into Damian, and it was a relief to see it returned in kind. There was still work to be done, damage that might never be repaired, but it was a good start. Bruce doubted he could have done a better job. He couldn't have been prouder of them both. 

Stephanie was Batgirl, and she was good at it. She would never be Barbara or Cass, but Stephanie brought something all her own to the name. She was spontaneous, tenacious, and charming in a way that made him wonder why he had ever hesitated to train her properly. Her allomancy had also flourished in the time he'd been away. With careful application of zinc, she'd learned to dissuade a fight before it even began, and to inflame fear and doubt in others. It was always going to be a skill she used best when fighting with others, but she was good at pushing so slightly at emotions, that it was easy to miss. 

It was she and Barbara that had been able to bring Jason back to them. There was too much guilt for it to be as it was. Jason didn't trust him, and Bruce would never be able to make it up to him, but all hope was not lost. Jason worked with the girls, and Tim if he asked, but he avoided Batman like the plague. The situation wasn't ideal, because Bruce would always long to have Jason back in the manor, safe and protected, but it was better than him raging across Gotham, leaving a bloody swath in his path. 

It wasn't enough, but it was better than it had been. Better than Bruce had dared to hope. His son was alive, and didn't want to burn Gotham's criminals to the ground. It was something to be thankful for.

Bruce couldn't claim he hadn't made a mistake. That the boy who had desperately needed meaning, had started something greater than himself. He'd dragged others into it, children who also felt that same burning hunger for justice. Each one had brought something forward that Bruce could not have done himself, and even when he had been forced away, they had perpetuated his vision. 

In the blood and grit of Gotham's underbelly, Bruce Wayne had forged his own family, out of shared trauma and the need to make things better, to right the wrongs that no one else would. 

It was a mistake. Looking back, he could admit it, but at least it was his mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that I am only covering aspects that were relevant in the fic. There's a lot more if you want to check out the links!
> 
> Allomancy – One of the three Metallic Arts. By ingesting, and 'burning' small pieces of metal, an allomancer increases aspects of self. Which metal, determines the effect.  
> -Pewter (Pewterarm) – Increases physical abilities (durability, health, speed, strength etc). One of the few metals that can be burned unconsciously.  
> -Copper (Smoker) – Hides allomantic pulses within a certain range, creating a coppercloud  
> -Steel (Coinshot) – Pushes on nearby metals. Weight is the determining factor in which of the two bodies move.  
> -Bendalloy – Speeds up time, creating a speed bubble, that moves faster than normal time.  
> -Tin (Tineye) – Increases the senses. (sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste).  
> -Zinc (Rioter) – Inflames emotions. Cannot create emotions in others, but can make them more intense.  
> -Chromium (Leecher) – Wipes allomantic reserves of a target.  
> -Bronze (Seeker) – Can hear allomantic pulses. Often counter by a smoker, which hides them.
> 
> [Feruchemy](https://coppermind.net/wiki/Feruchemy) – One of the three Metallic Arts. By using metalminds, pieces of specially designed metal, feruchemists can store aspects of themselves for later use. Which metal determines the effect.  
> -Gold (Bloodmaker) – Stores Health. A feruchemist who is storing health will be sickly and weak. One taping health can heal very severe injuries.  
> -Zinc – Stores Mental Speed.  
> -Pewter – Stores Physical Strength. 
> 
> Hemalurgy – One of the three Metallic Arts. A transfer of metallic arts via a metal spike, in which the original metallic arts user's skills are transferred to the metal, then to a second host. In this fic, this often results in death of the original host.
> 
> Snapping – The sudden spark that awakens an allomancers powers.
> 
> Mistling – An allomancer, typically that can only burn one metal.
> 
> Savant – An allomancer that is addicted to burning their metal. Often manifests physically on the body in some way. Physical manifestation depends on the metal in use. 
> 
> Twinborn – A person who is both an allomancer and a feruchemist.
> 
> Compounding – A technique used by twinborns that have use the same metal in both allomancy and feruchemy. Compounding allows for a constant, steady stream of allomantic or feruchemic ability. Becoming a savant is common, since the subject rarely stops using their metals.


End file.
